


Language

by Lafaiette



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Prisoner of War, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 01:58:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1410745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lafaiette/pseuds/Lafaiette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was the reminder of something beautiful and alive that could exist only outside that terrible spaceship, the proof that there was still some good in the galaxy.</p><p>During an intergalactic war, Wade is captured by the enemies and meets Peter, a man who doesn't speak his same language. Both prisoners, they try to survive tortures and sadness together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Language

**Author's Note:**

> The man named Francis comes from the old _Deadpool 17b - Deadpool & Death Annual 1998_. He was Killebrew’s cruel assistant and Wade’s main enemy at Weapon X. The starship in the fic is like a reinterpretation of that place.

He hadn’t imagined this when he took part in the war. To tell the truth, he didn’t even _want_ to participate in this shitty intergalactic crusade, but he had to because he was a mercenary and that’s what mercenaries do: fight for people and ideals they don’t believe in, just for a fistful of money.

However he was a good mercenary - the best on the market, the less savage, as many had wryly told him multiple times - and he had imagined some good fights and many victories, because he was fighting for the party who seemed the strongest. And the pay was good, so he actually put a lot of effort into this, wanting to go home as soon as possible, to kill and fight his own small wars and not those of stupid kings, emperors and governments who didn’t have mercy on anyone.

Maybe he wasn’t really a good mercenary, maybe he chose to work for the wrong people, because during the climax of the war he found himself on the ground, blood spurting from his mouth and nose, his companions annihilated and the heavy foot of an enemy soldier pressed on his back like a rock.

Then everything became gray and black; only pain, shame and rage existed, together with the horrible realization that he had been beaten, that Wade Wilson, one of the most requested mercenaries, had failed and was probably going to die. He had heard the enemies liked to capture some prisoners to receive information and study them, but hoped this wasn’t his case; he just wanted to die, it wasn’t like his life was worth something to him. His whole existence had been hard, painful, _bad_ , and it was almost relieving to finally let everything go.

Maybe that kind of death wasn’t exactly heroic, but it was better than being killed by a rival mercenary or during a shitty mission to make a shitty person satisfied. At least he was trying to stop a war.

As usual, his prayers went unheeded and no death came for him, no blissful relief. The enemies decided to keep him alive - he was strong, he had a good body and was leading a large group of soldiers, which meant he also must have had a good brain. So they put him in a cell of their ship, wounded and barely conscious, blood still seeping through his clothes, still dripping from his mouth and knuckles.

But he was alive, he knew he was going to be okay, he recognized the signals his body was giving him, and shuddered; his fate was clear, now, no death for him, only torture and God knows _what_ kind of torture. And when a doctor with white mustache first entered his cell, he realized it was going to be a long, endless procedure, because that man’s smile was cruel and sadistic.

"Listen to me!" he begged shamelessly when they took him to a lab inside the spaceship. "I know nothing, I’m just a merc! Don’t…" he stopped talking when he saw the machines, the tools on the table, and nausea rushed over him, bile creeping into his mouth.

"We don’t want information, my friend." the doctor told him with a manic grin. "You are here to be my toy. Our lord is a benevolent man and he lets us scientists have some fun once in a while." He patted his back - and Wade hissed, because it was covered in cuts - and added in a whisper: "Now, do everything I say, okay? Who knows, maybe I could even grant you super-strength or some kind of cool mutation if you collaborate."

But the doctor gave him nothing but pain, knives and needles under his skin, strange, burning water his body was put under for the longest periods of time; every day was different and the same and Wade could feel the life slowly stripped away, but punctually forced back into him by another experiment or another acid drink. It was a nightmarish loop and he just wanted to disappear. He knew the war was continuing outside the walls of the spaceship, but he couldn’t care less. It wasn’t his war, it had _never_ been his war, and now he was stuck there, begging to die and begging for the pain to stop like a child.

Time passed - he didn’t know how much - and he became a shadow of himself, destroyed, battered, bald and scarred almost beyond recognition.

He spent his day in complete isolation and loneliness; the walls of his cell were thick, shiny metal devoid of any warmth; he couldn’t hear any sound except his own breathing, his muttered moans of pain and blood falling on the floor. He didn’t know if there were other prisoners in the cells next to his; the ship was so big and he was always too weak and on the verge of death to notice other presences. In fact he was starting to loathe anything that could move and speak, because that only meant more pain for him, another round of tortures and meaningless studies on his already damaged body.

So he started talking to himself; he tiredly mused about the war, about his home; he wondered if those experiments had some use or if it was really just a game for the doctor, a way to spend his time. He had always known there were cruelty and horror in the galaxy, but this had been the proof he didn’t asked for.

Then, one day, the door of his cell opened, but no doctor came in. A pale, young man with blood-drenched clothes was pushed in and he stumbled for long seconds before falling down, eyelids heavy with exhaustion.

"He must _not_ die.” the guard - a cruel guy named Francis - warned a shocked Wade through the door still ajar. “Not yet, at least. The doctor wants him alive and if you kill him before the time is due, he will cut off your arms and feed you with them.” A sick grin appeared on his face. “But as long as you don’t kill him, you can do whatever you want with him. Aren’t you happy? I’m sure he likes it rough!” The guard closed the door with a grisly laugh and let the two men alone.

Wade looked down at his new guest with surprise and something akin to joy. The young man was breathing heavily; his face was dirty with blood and dust, but Wade couldn’t see any wound of him. Maybe he was a civilian, captured just like him.

"Hey." he called kneeling down. The young man moaned softly and looked up; a look of fear and surprise passed over his delicate face when he saw the scars and gruesome sores, but he relaxed and made a questioning sound.

"Are you hurt?" Wade asked, excitement making him talk too fast; he poked an arm with his index finger. The young man frowned and sat up with a grunt and when Wade repeated the question with more urgency, his expression was completely lost and shocked.

"… Please tell me you can understand me." Despair appeared on Wade’s scarred face. " _Shit!_ Of fucking course the first person I can speak to after an eternity is mute or… or…” He threw his arms up in the air, snarling.

The other man gulped, probably alarmed by the sudden panicked look on the marred face, and crawled back until his back was resting against the cold wall. There were tears in his eyes, now, and Wade felt pity - something he hadn’t felt for a long time - burn his heart like a fire.

"Fine." he sighed rubbing his eyes. "Trying can’t hurt, can it? I’m… I’m Wade.”  He patted a hand on his chest, repeating his name more and more times, until the young man timidly repeated it.

“You _can_ speak!” Wade exclaimed, letting out a shaky laughter. “Fuck, yes, you can talk!”

That man’s accent was different, the sounds round and clear. Wade didn’t recognize it, but he assumed that guy came from some distant, far-away planet.

When he repeated the name correctly, Wade nodded with a big smile and pointed at him, waiting with a surprising amount of patience. In the end his fellow prisoner blurted out something similar to ‘Peter’ and Wade went with it, not wanting to spend more time discussing names and identities.

"You can sleep there. Wait, take these." he pointed at the half of the cell Peter was staying into and handed him some spare blankets. There wasn’t a bed in that cell, Wade had always slept on the cold ground, but the doctor had given him those to “rest his poor, aching bones and wipe the blood away after their ‘friendly game sessions’.”.

Peter used one to clean his face and body from the blood and Wade could observe him better; he really was _pretty_ , brown, innocent eyes on a delicate and young face. He was the reminder of something beautiful and alive that could exist only outside that terrible spaceship, the proof that there was still some good in the galaxy. Wade felt even more excited, almost drunk with the prospective of finally having a companion, another soul to share pain, but also hope.

The young man eyed him shyly, then curled down on the floor, hidden by a blanket, and kept staring at him. Wade sighed, aware of his own look, and tried to start a conversation.

"Peter." he called and the young man tensed up a bit. Wade gestured vaguely, not sure how to explain him what he wanted to say.

"You. From where?" Wade patted his chest again, flinching slightly when he touched a particularly painful scar under the filthy shirt. "Earth. Uh… Soldier." He made some ‘pew pew’ noises and jumped when Peter giggled. He hadn’t heard a sound so good and positive since he got captured and it almost made him cry.

Peter removed the blanket from his head and listened to Wade, who finally had the chance of talking and venting with _someone_ , a person who wasn’t there to torture him and made his life a living hell. Peter couldn’t understand him and he couldn’t understand Peter, but they were both alone and just hearing a normal human voice was something special and precious there.

Hours passed and Wade forgot about the torture, about the doctor and his pain. Peter was a _gift_. He was gentle and let Wade come near him to talk better; in the end they managed to know each other better using blood and that was the biggest irony. Peter was completely soaked in it and he was the one who had the idea; he painted his fingers red and started drawing on the floor, showing Wade his story and how he ended up there.

He had saved an old couple from the raid - his grandfather and grandmother? Uncle and aunt? Wade didn’t know -, but got captured. The doctor apparently didn’t torture him yet, but Peter knew that was his destiny too. And the sad expression on his face made Wade’s stomach turn and twist.

He proceeded to narrate his story in the same way, but decided to leave out the details about his mercenary life. He didn’t want to scare the only friend and ally he had in that place.

Hours passed and no guards came. They stayed in the cell and Wade listened to Peter’s soft and shy voice, looked at his eyes bright with relief because his relatives were safe, watched his long fingers slowly trace figures on the ground.

He feared for the boy’s health, he dreaded the experiments they were going to use him for. He tried to explain him he had to do everything they told him to do, because it was less painful and long that way. Apparently Peter understood and then he started crying, now utterly aware of what was expecting him. He pointed at Wade’s scars and the merc knew what he meant.

_Did they do this to you?_

"Yes." Wade nodded and Peter’s eyes were full of sadness and compassion now. "Don’t worry, though, you are… you are handsome and I’m sure they won’t hurt you too bad if you don’t give them reason to. Just… be quiet, don’t make them angry, be _invisible_.” He stroked the young man’s forearm and the other blushed and nodded, understanding his reassuring gesture.  
  


  
\- - -  
  
  
  
Wade was right. They left Peter in peace for two days straight and the torture was all for Wade. When they took him out the next day, Peter looked shocked and scared, not for himself, but for _Wade_ , fearing for _his_ life. When Wade came back, he was waiting for him with a clean blanket and helped him to sit down.

"Thanks God the doctor doesn’t use those probes in another way…" Wade bitterly laughed and even if Peter couldn’t understand him, the young man held his hand and listened to him with attention and care.

Their friendship had been natural, instinctive, and Wade marveled at the way Peter’s presence made him feel.

 _'Must be because I haven't been in the same room with someone else in a very long time.'_ he thought as the other man helped him cleaning the blood from his face. _'Fuck, it feels so good.'_

They talked about the war and Peter informed him it wasn’t going very well for anybody. They tried to teach each other some words of their respective language and for the first time since he was there, Wade laughed and joked and forgot the pain.

Then Peter’s time came and the doctor took him in his lab, leaving Wade in the cell, screaming and punching the door until his knuckles were bleeding and his nails were cracked.

Peter came back after the longest time, pale, with cuts all over his hands, tears in his eyes, and when he sat down he started weeping and didn’t let Wade go.

"I know, baby boy." the merc whispered, voice thick with emotion and rage. "I know, it hurts. Be strong. Breathe." He showed him how to do it and Peter repeated his gestures, finally calming down a little bit.

"I…" he tried to speak. "I… fear… Wade, fear…"

"I know." Wade repeated with a nod, wiping off the tears from the young face, now not so smooth anymore. "It’s hard, but don’t give up. Think about happy things!" He tapped his finger on the drawings on the ground. "Think about your relatives! Hold onto those memories, okay?"

Peter smiled at him and thanked him, repeating the words more times.

They usually slept in their respective side of the cell, but that night Peter slowly crawled to Wade’s space and rested down next to him. Wade noticed, but pretended to be asleep and only during the night he moved to drape an arm over the young man’s body, listening to his breath and heartbeat.  
  
  
  
\- - -  
  
  
  
They kept torturing them without mercy and one day Peter returned into the cell screaming and sobbing, so terrified that Wade had to hold him down to calm him and understand what happened.

For a moment he feared the worst - Peter was pretty, the guards were monsters, maybe they did something to him, Francis had always tried to touch him after all… But the boy was looking at his own wrists with something akin to horror and Wade leaned in to observe them.

"I-I don’t see anything, what’s wrong with- _Fuck!_ ”

A white strand had come out of the wrist and landed on the wall. It looked like silk and Wade realized that the doctor’s experiments had been successful this time.

"Petey…" he murmured stroking gently the poor man’s face. "I… I am so sorry."

Peter cried harder into his chest, repeating the same word every few seconds, and it was so full of disgust and hatred that Wade couldn’t help but shiver. It reminded him of ‘monster’ and he prayed that Peter wasn’t referring to himself.

From that day, the young man wasn’t quite the same. He was still gentle, kind and tried to smile whenever he can, but those… powers - Wade didn’t know how to call them - terrorized him. He could walk on walls - they discovered that by accident - and he forced himself not to move his arms too much, fearing the sticky threads that he could shoot.

Their days were spent in simple conversations, in seeking comfort into each other and trying to survive the doctor’s experiments, as well the cruel jokes of the crueler guards.

Then Peter made the first move. He and Wade had been sleeping next to each other for a long time, now, and one night he moved closer to the scarred man, pressing his body into him, and started kissing his face.

Wade slowly woke up and his heart skipped a beat.

“What the…?”

“Shh.” Peter said, his hands already under the other’s shirt, touching his chest and collarbone. “Please?”

“Petey…” Wade gulped. It was true he felt something very strong for that young man, he had become his best friend and his light in that monstrous place and his gentle eyes soothed his pain like nothing else. But he didn’t want to get too attached. One of them would die, sooner or later, and the other would spend his days in sorrow and despair, longing for something that wasn’t more. He didn’t want to do that to the boy and he couldn’t imagine spending his life without him.

“Peter, listen to me…” he grabbed the other man’s wrists, but Peter had gained a super-strength after the doctor’s experiments and freed himself with easiness, pressing his mouth on Wade’s again.

The merc shivered with pleasure, because he longed for that kind of contact, for that kind of touches that brought only pleasure and joy, not blood and burning. Peter was silently crying, hot tears streaming down his cheeks as he pulled off his pants and cupped Wade’s face to kiss him better.

“Slow.” the merc laughed softly and Peter nodded with a sad smile, understanding the word and consequently slowing down, letting Wade’s tongue into his mouth and moaning when his big hands stroked his thighs.

Peter was probably a virgin; his touches were confident, but shy, he hesitated over Wade’s spots and asked him with his eyes if he was doing good; he had never been disgusted by his skin - so damaged and beyond repair because of the tortures - and the ex-mercenary was extremely grateful to him for that. It meant he considered him a person despite the gruesome look, while everyone else in that God forsaken place had always thought of him as an item, a soulless thing useful only for sadistic games.

“Peter…” Wade murmured his name, eliciting low moans from him; the boy waited for him, making some mistakes here and there; he tried to move his legs, but Wade couldn’t reach between them that way; he wanted to kiss him so eagerly that they ended up gasping multiple times because he didn’t let his chapped lips go.

“Peter, we have to breathe.” Wade chuckled, amused and moved by the young man’s impatience.

Peter had stopped crying, instead there was his usual sweet and kind smile on his lips. For the first time since he had gained those powers, he looked happy, life shining bright in his eyes, life and something else Wade didn’t dare giving a name to. He lowered his own pants and Peter blushed, looking down at the throbbing erection with awe and a little bit of fear.

“Don’t worry.” Wade whispered in a gentle tone to reassure him. “We don’t have lube here, I don’t want to hurt you.” He shook his head to make the point clear and smiled. “Just touches, okay?”

Peter apparently understood everything correctly; he frowned and almost pouted, tugging at Wade’s battered and dirty shirt.

“No!” he exclaimed. “More! Please!”

Wade chuckled some more, hugging him close and rubbing their erections together; the young man gasped and moaned and Wade said softly: “This is good enough for now, baby boy.” He bit his earlobe and Peter gasped into his neck, one of his elegant hands going down between their bodies to stroke their dicks. Wade grunted and buckled into the touch, grasping Peter’s erection as well.

“Is this good? Do you like it?”

“Yes…!” Peter giggled, a sound that Wade couldn’t get enough of. “Hard…!”

“I know, Petey, you are hard too.” the bald man laughed, pushing the boy on his back and grinding against him, his rough lips making hickeys on his lean, long neck.

“God, you are so beautiful, so… so fucking sweet!” he panted while Peter’s moans kept getting higher, his hands never ceasing to touch the coarse skin full of holes and swollen lines; they kissed again and this time Peter pulled away when it was necessary to bite Wade’s lips and play with his tongue.

“You learn fast!” the older man laughed, now grinding slower, one hand cupping a red cheek, the other fondling Peter’s balls; the boy started calling his name, hiding his face into the crook of his neck, overwhelmed by the different, new sensations, by Wade’s gentle words into his ear; he couldn’t understand him fully, but he could grasp the meaning behind what he was saying and it made everything more beautiful.

“Peter, sweetie, look at me.” Wade panted; they were close now, he could see it in the other man’s eyes and smile, he could hear it in his gasps; their erections were wet with precum and when Wade stroked Peter’s, the boy cried out his name and came all over their stomachs.

Wade rubbed their bodies together some more, relishing in the slick, hot, sweet sensation, in Peter’s hug and warmth, in his sloppy kisses; then  he came too, laughing and murmuring, eyes lost into brown ones: “Thank you, thank you, thank you…”

Peter cuddled next to him and they wrapped the cleanest blanket around themselves; they didn’t even bother cleaning for the moment, all they wanted to do now was caressing each other and talk, talk until their lips were dry and their eyes tired.

The young man repeated the same words Wade had told him few minutes before: “Thank you.” Wade hoped he couldn’t see his blush under the scars and brushed back the hair from his sweaty forehead, asking worriedly: “How do you feel?”

Peter’s smile reassured him immediately and after another deep kiss, he continued: “Did… did you like it?” He glanced down at his disfigured body, grimacing. “Sorry, Peter, maybe you would have liked… something better.”

“No.” Peter shook his head and caressed his cheek. “You. I…” He struggled for the next words and with some help and a little amount of concentration he concluded: “I… want… you.”

Those words made Wade’s heart beat faster and he could only blush while hope and _love_ for that boy invaded his entire being. In that hell, in that tragedy that had hit them both - and a whole galaxy - he had found a light, someone incredibly important to him. For the first time in his life, he wanted to save and protect someone because he _wanted_ to; for the first time in his life he wanted a weapon not to kill unknown people for money, but to keep that boy safe, to free him.

“Peter, honey.” he said, trying not to let his voice shake too much. “I’ll bring you out of here. I swear. Do you understand?”

The boy nodded slowly, suddenly looking worried.

“Careful.” he said pressing Wade’s hand on his chest. “They bad. They…” he sighed, unable to explain what he meant with the few words he could pronounce. “They hurt you.”

“I will be.” Wade kissed his still wet lips. “Be strong just for a little longer, okay? I’ll find a way, there must be one!” He was smiling, a fire burning in his chest, strength and resolution again with him after the longest time.

Peter saw his determination and returned his smile, pressing their foreheads together. They fell asleep shortly after.  
  
  


\- - -  
  
  


It happened two days after.

Wade was in the lab and the doctor with white moustache was choosing the best tools to work on him; this time he seemed interested in digging into the scars to study them and the skin.

The workbench was a little far away from the seat Wade was tied on; the doctor had his back turned to him, mumbling something about a ‘damned healing factor still absent’, and his choice was taking longer than ever before. It was the perfect occasion, the perfect moment to kill him and steal his keys, which, as he was one of the most trusted men on that ship, were one of the few ways to leave that place.

Wade knew he could knock out or kill the guard patrolling the cells with the weapons that were in that lab. He would give some to the other prisoners, freeing them and leading the long awaited rebellion that would take them to freedom. Maybe he was way too positive, but it was his only chance to save Peter and himself.

Luck seemed on his side. The doctor hadn’t tied him well, maybe thinking he was too weak to try something; he freed himself easily and stood up, taking a knife from the small table next to the seat.

God, he hated that thing so much! He had lost liters of blood, his dignity, his face and body on it; everything in that godforsaken room narrated him a story of horror and disgust and the thought that Peter had been brought there too was almost unbearable.

Slow, almost inhumanly slow, he approached the distracted scientist; he remembered his training, all the years spent as a mercenary, and he grabbed the man from behind, pressing a hand on his mouth to silence him.

“Go to hell, you fucking monster.” he growled, slitting his throat in a swift motion.

The gurgle, the blood spurting on the floor and the sight of the diabolic doctor on the floor made him dizzy; for a moment he thought he was dreaming, but the wet warmth on his hands and the metallic smell in the air convinced him that it was real, that they were almost free.

He quickly took the keys from the doctor’s coat, grabbed other knives and some guns used for the torture and headed outside, towards the cells. He didn’t know if there were other prisoners, but the chances were very high and the idea of a rebellion taking over the whole ship was getting more fascinating.

Francis wasn’t there, so he hurried to open his cell door; Peter looked up at him from the floor and his scared expression turned into utter shock and bewilderment.

“Petey!” Wade laughed triumphantly, giving him a knife and a gun, which the boy stared with horror at. “We are free, I killed the doctor! Come on, let’s go!”

There were really other prisoners next to them; as soon as they had heard the door open and Wade’s words, they started knocking on the walls, shouting and begging to be released.

“Wade!” Peter followed him as he opened the other doors; there were a blue man with a tail and three fingers, a bearded growling guy with blades coming out of his hands, a giant green woman, a weird man with a frail body who kept crying that he had seen this day coming because he could read the future…

Wade gave each one a weapon just in time; soldiers had heard the commotion and started coming; they hadn’t expected all the prisoners being free and very much alive though. They fell without problems and Wade leaded the group, Peter at his side holding his hand.

He didn’t have any interest in saving the others, but Peter looked at him with a plea in his eyes so big he couldn’t refuse; when the soldiers started being too much, too powerful, he convinced the others to barricade into the hallway that leaded to the escape pods. Thankfully one of the prisoners knew were to go and they ran, ran and ran, hoping the furniture could keep the guards at bay until their escape.

A shoot resonated in the air and an agonizing pain spread all over Wade’s body, making him gasp and fall flat on the ground.

“You piece of shit!” Francis, with a snarl etched on his ugly face, appeared from behind a corner; the others were already  far away, safe from his rage, and Wade wobbly got up, pushing Peter behind his back. Francis had shot him in the chest, blood was pouring quickly and his sight was already blurred.

“You have made a mess. A good job, I admit.” Francis aimed the gun at Wade’s head and a creepy grin appeared on his lips. “You have always been so problematic, freak. This will be your first and last rebellion.” His eyes settled on a trembling Peter. “And this time I’ll enjoy your little friend’s company before killing him. I should have done it sooner.”

“You fucking…!”

 Francis shot and he would have killed him if Peter hadn’t been there for him. The young man cried out and pushed him down in time to avoid the bullet; then he used his power - those strange white threads - to immobilize the soldier on the ground and snatch the gun out of his hand.

Wade didn’t hesitate and shot as well, killing the man; once the immediate danger was gone, despair and pain hit him. He was _dying_ , now that he was finally free, free with _Peter_ …!

“Wade!” The boy used his super-strength to lift him and carry him to the escape pods further away. “Wade, okay? Please, okay!” He was crying, staring at the blood pouring from the wound, and the bald man cracked a weak smile.

“I’m fine, Peter. Don’t - urgh! - d-don’t worry, we are almost there…”

They finally arrived; there were still enough escape pods for everyone and Peter helped him to enter one. They closed the metallic door as soon as he and Peter were in and he asked to be put in front of the console.

“Wade!” Peter shook his shoulder. “Rest! You must rest!”

“We have to escape!” he replied hastily, pressing the right buttons, ignoring the blood leaking from the corner of his mouth and nose. Thanks God this pod was similar to the airship he used to drive before the damned war. “Petey, I’m fine! We have to go before the soldiers will start sending ships after us! Stupid shit, work, _work_ , dammit!”

He was about to slam a fist on the console when Peter intervened, pressing a single button flashing red right in front of their faces. The engine made a low sound and a message appeared, saying the ship was ready to go.

“You are a genius! Holy shit, Peter, you are truly a fucking genius!” Wade exclaimed pressing a loud and bloody kiss on Peter’s cheek. There was already an escape pod in the distance and he moved their own forward, gasping and clutching his chest with a hand. Peter was behind him, holding his shoulders and crying silently.

After using the interstellar jump to put a great distance between themselves and the enemy ship, the ex-mercenary activated the automatic pilot and Peter helped him to rest down on a small bed used for long trips.

“Fuck…” Wade said, his voice barely a whisper. “A real mattress… I missed it so much.” He smiled up at Peter, who was holding his hand and gasping through his sobs.

“Hey, hey, now! We are free! We escaped, Petey!” He laughed, spitting some blood. “Don’t be like that, sweetie. You can see your relatives again now.”

The pain had subsided, but Wade didn’t give it too much attention; it probably meant it was about time and he was dying; it was so ironic, so _cruel_ , that all he could do was laughing and laughing until tears were streaming down his bloody, scarred face.

“W-Wade!” Peter called him, taking his head in his small, delicate hands. “Please don’t leave!”

“Oh, honey…” the other man stroked his cheek and touched his soft lips, lost into the brown, kind eyes. “You know, I’ve always wanted to… to die, to go and leave this fucked up galaxy behind.” He took in a big breath, wheezing. “But now… now I just want to…” He stopped, because he didn’t know if Peter wanted the same, if he still wanted to be with him now that they were free. So he showed a bittersweet smile, full of melancholy and regret, and Peter cried harder.

“Your relatives… go to them. And be careful, okay?” He pulled the boy down, brushing their lips together. “Be safe.”

Peter cried harder, pressing his face on a broad, scarred shoulder.

“Wade!” he sobbed. “Please don’t leave me!” He raised his head, now all red and wet. “Please, stay with me!”

“Fuck…!” Wade whispered while stroking the soft, brown hair, tears streaming down his scarred face. “I really don’t want to die!”

He closed his eyes and the pod became quiet, except for Peter’s sobs and pleas. Then, the blood stopped pouring out of the wound, the pain was completely gone and Wade slowly opened his eyes, frowning.

He felt dizzy, his sight was still blurred, but he wasn’t… slipping away. He could still feel and hear everything - Peter’s warmth, his wet tears on his skin, his kisses, his desperate words…

There was something else off too and he realized with shock that the blood had stopped pouring because the wound was gone. It had _disappeared_. His chest was okay again, except for the usual gruesome skin.

“Peter.” he called with wide eyes. The young man made a surprised sound and looked down at where Wade was pointing; he noticed the absent wound and gawked at where it should have been.

“Huh… I guess this is the healing factor the doctor wanted to give me…” Wade rubbed his neck, pouting. “Why am I still ugly as hell though?”

“Stupid!” Peter was crying with joy now and smiling, so brightly that the whole pod seemed more beautiful and better illuminated. “You are not ugly!”

“Don’t make me swoon, sweetie.” Laughter started bubbling inside their hearts, until they couldn’t keep it anymore and finally burst out, fear and adrenaline gone, replaced by relief and joy.

“Fuck, that whole ‘I don’t want to die’ scene was so awkward. It’s like God had suddenly changed mind at the last moment.” He lit up. “Peter, you have been so fucking cool before! When you stopped that asshole, you… I’ve never seen something like that in my entire life!” He grabbed the boy’s wrists and grinned: “It was amazing! You saved us!”

Peter blushed and shook his head with a shy smile.

“You saved us.” he corrected. “You hero!”

The scarred man snorted, turning his head not to let Peter see his blush. The boy noticed the same, though, and put two fingers under his chin to look at him in the eyes.

“Hero.” he repeated with a big smile. “Thank you.” Then he looked at his own wrist - there was still some of that white substance on it - and became suddenly sad.

“Monster?” he murmured and Wade shook his head, holding him closer.

“The only one who is a monster here is me, Peter.” He smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. “I can bring you to your relatives and then… go. I… I will understand if you don’t want to have anything to do with me anymore.”

“W-What?” Peter looked in panic now. “No! I told you! I want to stay with you!” He took his hands and squeezed them, entwining their fingers together.

There was that fire again in Wade’s eyes, hope and fear and joy all mixed together.

“You really do?”

Peter nodded, wrapping his arms around his neck.

“Don’t know how to tell you.” he murmured with a shy smile. “To tell you that I… I…  In my language, I know how! But…”

“Tell me what?” Wade chuckled. He turned serious, surprised, when Peter’s smile grew and his expression became more eloquent and sweeter.

“Oh! Well… I… guh.”

Peter giggled as the poor scarred man blushed terribly and spluttered something. Then Wade laughed with him and pushed him down on the mattress - God, it was so beautiful to be on a bed again! - and whispered stroking his hair: “Do you want me to teach you more words, Peter?”

Peter wrapped arms and legs around him, their eyes locked.

“Yes, please.”

And Wade did, sharing with him his love and the way to express it, both free and alive in the vast depths of space.


End file.
